Mr Monk and the Stamp Collector
by katHY Conrad
Summary: The bludgeoned body of a young man is found near the estate of a wealthy collector of rare stamps. Shock rocks the upper crust community as the identity of the young man becomes known. Monk and his assistant, Natalie are asked to help find out "whodunit".
1. Prologue

**Mr. Monk and the Stamp Collector**

_I was going to write that I do not own the characters but actually in this first scene I do. I don't own Monk and the gang, but I enjoy their company very much. It is a tribute to the writers and actors of Monk that we know the characters so well that we can write more scenes for them._

_If you are reading, please review. I need the help, hugs, and advice!_

**Prologue**

It was pitch black in the attic. It smelled musty and earthy. Disgusting really, like there was a dead mouse or something worse lying around somewhere. Hidden behind boxes and underneath part of an old sun umbrella which extended from where it was lying across a crate, he tried not to breathe at all. Prepared for a stay of many hours if necessary, he had bottled water in an otherwise empty toolbox and crackers in the pockets of his windbreaker. He had a black padded bag which he brought to protect his treasure with once he found it. He tried to relax his muscles in order to avoid cramping up but he also needed to stay alert.

Hours passed uncomfortably for the young man and he tried to focus on his task.

He was about to come into a huge windfall if only…if only it could work out as he planned. Gaining entrance to the old mansion had been easy. He just walked in the back entrance wearing the plumber's shirt and a ball cap that he had bought at Good Will for four dollars. He mumbled something unintelligible as he carried his toolbox through the kitchen and pointed to a door. No one had stopped him or even really looked at him.

Reading in the paper about the priceless Stanley Gibbons catalogue circa 1865, had been the beginning a seed of an idea which had developed into his plan. Aware that he knew of someone with copies and collections of rare and very old catalogues and collections of stamps, he realized he had an opportunity.

Finally, the house settled. The lights were long out. All sounds of TVs or music were gone. There were no footsteps, no doors closing, no sounds at all coming from downstairs. It was time.

Swiftly but silently the thin twenty year old slipped to the attic staircase. Keeping his feet on the outer sides of each stair step eliminated creaking noises – a trick he had learned playing hide and seek in his Gran's house as a boy. He unlatched the door and pulled it inward, stopping to listen, stopping to slow his breathing, he paused.

Hearing nothing he continued down the third floor back stairs past the bedrooms on the second floor to the first floor. Arriving in a back entry foyer he paused again. Confidently he started across the huge kitchen to the swinging door he had used many hours earlier. He passed through a hallway, really silent now on the plush carpet.

He stopped at the entrance to a library and cocked his blond head to one side. From reading he knew exactly where to look. He lit a small flashlight and turning to his left he slipped along the wall of books not even noticing the hundreds of valuable volumes. When he reached the antique carved lectern he recognized it from the newspaper photos. There on the podium sat an enormous old book, which he lifted carefully and slipped into a handled cloth bag.

And then the lights went on. He turned frightened, and the lights went out again. Permanently.

_It's a Jungle out there…_

_Author's note:_

_During the last hundred and more years Stanley Gibbons catalogues have become veritable encyclopedias of stamps, the authoritative guides to market values and indispensable works of reference. Stanley Gibbons Ltd. catalogues are virtually the history of philately. The early issues of the famous philatelic catalogue are priceless. __shop./index.asp?pagepubs&catgroupingcatalogues_


	2. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Please read and review!_

Chapter 1

It was a cool fall evening. Adrian Monk sat alone at his wooden desk before the double window in his apartment just as the sun set. Oblivious to the day's end he had turned on a bright light which spilled over his shoulder and onto the stamp book in front of him.

There were small piles of red, brown, and blue stamps sorted out before him, an envelope of adhesive stickers and a baggie of stamps still affixed to bits of envelopes. Jacques Brel played in the background. Many years before he and Trudy had picked up some of the French crooner's music to play on quiet evenings and he still enjoyed listening to the songs.

Sometimes when he was feeling content, like this evening, he would talk out loud in the apartment. He pretended Trudy could hear him and he sensed her quiet presence in these moments. He would whistle along with the song and then comment on what he was doing.

"There you go! All finished."

Adrian looked with satisfaction at a completed page of his book and pushed his chair away from the desk. Finding all the stamps needed to fill a page was really fun for him. It was the same simple joy that crossword puzzle fans have when they finish a puzzle, or knitters get when a sleeve is complete. Stottlemeyer was right about this being a hobby that was a good fit for his friend. He had suggested it off-handedly after Mr. Monk's attempt at painting, which all in all had not been a good fit for Adrian.

It wasn't just collecting and finishing pages that engaged Mr. Monk. It was the details involved in each of these tiny pieces of history. Where they were from, if they were canceled, what the images contained and all the bits of information that he learned from studying them was what truly captured his attention. An absolute glutton for information, this hobby was always teaching him something new. He often went to the atlas stored on his shelf to find the fascinating places which his stamps had originated from. It was so intriguing to him that at times hours slipped away from him as he studied, searched, and pasted in his book.

Yawning, he stretched as he stood up. He began his evening routine of unplugging appliances, checking locks, turning off lights. All was well and soon he was asleep.

6:30AM

The phone rang in Adrian Monk's apartment as he brushed toast crumbs off the stone colored counter in his kitchen.

"This is Adrian Monk," he said on the second ring.

"Hi, Mr. Monk, It's Natalie,"

"I know it's you. Who else would call so early?"

"Well, good morning. The Captain called and he needs you at a crime scene over in Marin County, pretty close to where my parents live.

I will be over in ten minutes."

"I just finished breakfast. I'll be ready."

"I'm going to pick up a coffee on my way over to your place. Do you want anything?"

"No, thanks,"

"See you in a few, then," Adrian heard the dial tone and hung up.

6:50 AM

Natalie drove her jeep clutching coffee in her right hand and guiding the steering wheel with her left. Her eyes were barely open, but this was an easy, familiar drive to her. She turned west onto US101 and for the next 12 or so miles she drove on autopilot. She was heading back to her old neighborhood.

Mr. Monk sat quietly staring out of the window. When he finally spoke, Natalie jumped a little, out of her sleepy reverie, back to the present. "What did Leland say about the homicide?" He was ready to start thinking about the case.

Natalie covered a yawn with the coffee cup hand and spilled a couple of drops on her navy pea coat, but ignored it. "Ah, let's see. It's a young man – about twenty, he said. He's in a wooded area surrounded by residences… I think that's all I remember." She struggled to become more alert.

"Do you mean that's all he said? Or do you mean he said more, but you forgot it?" Monk wasn't picking at her, just trying to be clear.

"I…Yes, that's all," she tried to sound sure but she really felt too foggy to be positive. She knew her boss was ready to go to work, but they would be there soon enough.

Slowing the car, she circled down the ramp from the highway onto Sir Francis Drake Blvd, and soon they were passing beautiful, gated properties. The residences were opulent, cared for, private and quiet. The tree lined drive had a protected and tranquil feel to it as it wound around and around. This was the last place one would look for murder.


	3. Chapter 2

_Author's Note:_

_I didn't create these characters and I certainly have no rights where they are concerned. But I do care a great deal about them and I hope you enjoy this adventure. I have never attempted to put together a mystery with all of its clues, red herrings, twists, turns, and resolutions before. I will be happy if I can keep it on track. I would appreciate some feedback. Please read and review!_

Chapter 2

Pulling up just outside of the police barricades, Natalie and Monk got out of the car. Stottlemeyer walked quickly over to them and grabbed Monk's shoulder, twirling him around in a half circle so his back was to the crime scene. Natalie knew there was something difficult about the scene, something the Captain wanted to prepare Monk for, or to even to avoid having him encounter altogether. She peered over Monk's shoulder and tried to figure out what the problem was.

She saw the body of a slim man face down on the ground, half in a leaf-filled ditch. She could see that he was dressed in black jeans with a navy windbreaker. His blond head was turned awkwardly to the side, lower in the ravine than his feet. Then she spotted the problem.

About two feet away from the human body lay the carcass of a large bird – it was hard to tell what it was from where she stood, but it was half flesh, half skeleton and completely gross to look at. Moving around Monk she realized that it was crawling with mites and would be very distracting to her boss if it weren't removed.

Leland was saying to Adrian, "I need you to concentrate. This is one for the publicity hounds. It's going to be all over the news within the hour. This is a wealthy kid from an important family. Have you heard of the Stonehurst fortune? It's the younger grandson."

Adrian was nodding his comprehension of the situation so Stottlemeyer continued, "I want this case solved yesterday. We were called in because the Marin County Sheriff Department is short-handed. The sheriff had surgery yesterday and well the rest is a long story," he waved his left hand up and down as if to say he wasn't even going to try to explain the whole thing.

"Are you ready?" the Captain took a breath. "Let's solve a murder."

In the time it took for them to talk and turn around a deputy sheriff had removed the bird, stuffing it awkwardly into a trash bag, adding the latex gloves he had worn to the bag as well. The bird was gone by the time Monk saw the body.

Natalie was instantly at his side, hand on Monk's shoulder, and then seeing him start to work, she took a step or two back. He began looking around at the trees in the wooded area they were in. He looked at the ground, the ditch, a worn path, the road and back. Then he went into his "discovery" posture, hands raised, fingers spread wide, analyzing the scene.

Randy had been standing to one side during this discussion, but now came forward. It was like a well-rehearsed play where everyone knew their lines. It was Q and A time, and Randy stood at the ready. He waited and then began.

"Time of death – about midnight. Cause of death – blunt trauma to the skull. It looks like he was hit by something with a rounded blade like a shovel, but it smaller. The vic is twenty years old… 6'2" tall… Caucasian… blond hair…"

Stottlemeyer interrupted, "Randy, we can see that. Just get on with it."

"Yes sir. Name: Timothy James Stonehurst. Grandson of THE Dr. Stonehurst of THE Stonehurst family, THE Stonehurst Medical Center, THE Stonehurst College of Medicine, THE

"Randy!" One sharp word and Randy stopped reciting.

"He was a student. He flunked out of the best schools in California. Kicked out by parents, that would be Richard Stonehurst III. Had just started working - climbing cell phone towers for ECC, Edwards Communication Corporation. That's it," Randy looked up and flipped his notebook shut definitively.

"Who found the body?" Adrian asked still examining the scene.

"A pair of middle-aged ladies who were out walking this morning. They were taking their usual walk up Toussin Avenue and when they looped back through this wooded area toward Sir Francis Drake Blvd., they found the body," Stottlemeyer paused. "They thought it was a kid sleeping it off, because he reeks of alcohol. As soon as they realized he was dead they called it in. They still don't know who they found."

"How did you ID the body?"

"Pay stub in his pocket," Randy read again from the notebook.

Now Adrian was crouched over the body, "That's not beer or whiskey. That's sweet….like," he sniffed a couple of times, "What is that?"

Natalie stepped forward again, sniffing also. "Grand Marnier," She paused. "The kids I know and saw when I bartended couldn't afford after dinner liqueurs. They got drunk on the cheapest stuff we would sell them!"

"Anything else on the body?"

Randy replied, "There were cracker packages in the windbreaker and there is a black bag under him. We haven't moved the body, so we don't know if there's anything inside the bag. We waited for you."

Rolling him over, the sheriff's deputy released the cloth bag from underneath Timothy and opened it. "A little flashlight," he called holding it up and then bagging it.

Everyone except Natalie stepped in to take a closer look at the curved indentation on the head. Clearly he had died from the impact of that blow.

"Look at this," Monk used a pen from his pocket to lift some remnants of a cob web off the boy's jacket and again off his ankle. There was more underneath him on the front of his pants leg. "How did he get covered in spider webs if he was out drinking?" The look on his face showed his disgust. "There aren't any webs on the trees near the body. I don't think he was out partying."

As the group walked back towards the cars, Adrian stayed apart from them, still thinking and analyzing. "Let's go up to the house and see what they have to say about all this," Leland said.

"He lives near here?" Monk asked quickly returning to the group.

"No, but his grandparents sure do. The massive home you passed on the way up the winding road belongs to them. Mediterranean Modern, if I'm not mistaken. See I learned something from Linda Fuscoe! Besides the fact that she was a greedy, cold-blooded murderer, I mean." The Captain referred to an earlier case involving a real estate agent with whom he fell in love. Everyone shifted uneasily at the mention of her name.

"It's a little early for a social call – I wonder how THE "Stonehursts" are going to take the news. They will probably use their fortune to pay off the press," Randy rattled away. No one was listening and one by one they got into the cars and back out so they could turn around and head back to the Stonehurst residence.


	4. Chapter 3

_Author's Note__: I don't own Monk but he came along for the ride anyway. I apologize for all the little mistakes and errors I have been making in posting my chapters. It's a learning process, I guess! Please read and review!_

Chapter 3

Standing on the front steps of the immense home was clearly uncomfortable for everyone. Natalie was continuously brushing her hair out of her eyes and looking around like she expected to see someone she knew. Adrian kept brushing imaginary cobwebs off his sleeves and pants. Leland massaged his forehead like he had a headache and truth be told - with this case, he did. Randy was playing with his pen, clicking it over and over and fiddling with his notebook.

The huge oak door swung inward, and an older gentleman stared at them. He was dressed formally, all black and white, like a waiter, but with a jacket and no tie. He seemed to be annoyed and they hadn't even begun to deliver their bad news. Capt. Stottlemeyer showed his badge and began to speak, but the gentleman held up his hand, palm out in front of him, as if to demand silence. Swinging the door open wider and stepping backward with it he gestured them to come in.

"How may I help you," he said with practiced politeness.

"My name is Captain Leland Stottlemeyer of the SFPD and I am here on behalf of the Marin County Sheriff Department. These are my colleagues."

Again, the hand gestured, holding his palm up from the wrist only, in a request to stop talking. "Dr. Stonehurst is not ready for visitors this morning. I am Mr. John Worth. I am his butler. What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Worth, I am sorry, but I must insist on speaking with Dr. Richard Stonehurst, if he is at home. It is a police matter of great importance," Leland paused and looked around. "May we come in and wait for him?"

Mr. Worth pivoted on his heel and they followed him into a formal living room area to the right of the foyer. The entrance floor was marble and an enormous staircase descended on the left. The mahogany banister was polished brightly and the artwork on the walls looked expensive.

"I feel like I should be on my best behavior," Randy whispered nervously.

The Captain stage whispered back, "You should."

Mr. Worth commented, "What is he doing?" looking back over his shoulder.

The others looked around and realized that Mr. Monk was still at the threshold of the front doorway wiping his feet on a mat. He was obviously counting the number of wipes. Finishing the right, he began with the left foot. Natalie spoke up, "Oh, he is just very neat. He is almost done," and calling to him said, "Mr. Monk we're in here."

Adrian joined the group which by now was seated on formal sofas. Each of them perched on the edge of their silk covered seat, and looked curiously around the room. Mr. Worth remained in the doorway.

"Now then, what may I tell Dr. Stonehurst is your business with him?"

"We will tell him our business when he gets here," Leland cleared his throat. "Please tell him it is urgent that we see him as soon as possible."

"What is he doing now?" Mr. Worth said.

Everyone looked at Mr. Monk who was rearranging gorgeous Chinese vases on a marble-topped end table. The three vases had been arranged in a triangle shape and he was putting them into a straight line. He was unaware of his audience for a few moments, but the silence drew his attention back to the others and he realized they were looking at him.

"There. That's much better."

"Pardon me, sir. I have been managing the housekeeping here for many years and Dr. Stonehurst has never complained," speaking stiffly the butler put the vases back in their original places, handling them gingerly. Then glaring at Monk for a short instant turned and went up the stairs.

Adrian shifted his collar on his shirt and twisted his neck a couple of times. Then he carefully put the vases back into a perfect line and commented, "They'll thank me later."

"Mr. Monk, you have to stop," Natalie said. "Please don't fuss with anything else. These people are really, really picky. Pickier than you, even." As she put the vases back again, she got a look of disbelief from Monk, complete with raised eyebrows. He calmly reset the vases.

A noise at the top of the stairs brought everyone's attention back to the purpose at hand. An elderly gentleman in a silk polo shirt, Armani slacks and Italian shoes entered the room. His stride was smooth, dapper almost, which seem surprising for his obvious age. He held out his hand and they introduced themselves one at a time.

When they were all seated, Dr. Stonehurst turned to Mr. Worth who was standing in the doorway, and asked him to bring coffee. Mr. Worth pivoted away from them and then turned back. With an almost imperceptible click, he sucked on his teeth in annoyance, and walked to the end table. He rearranged the Chinese vases, ruining the perfectly straight alignment and replacing them into a triangle shape. Refusing any eye contact he left the room.

"Mr. Monk, stop!" Natalie whispered and gave him a look which was meant to impress him, but which of course, he ignored.

"Now, that we have taken care of the formalities, please tell me why you are here today, Captain Stottlemeyer," Dr. Stonehurst began. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mr. Monk fiddling with the Chinese vases, but he politely ignored him.


	5. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: _

_When a murder occurs, there are cries of foul play._

_When the dead one is known by us, it's a high price we pay,_

_Grieving is hard, but as long as you're not,_

_Alone, you'll find comfort in the loved ones you've got._

_I've borrowed all of these characters and I am about to borrow some more! Next chapter – a celebrity may turn up.. Thank you for reading, please review it as well._

**Chapter 4**

Mrs. Davenport rose to her feet upon hearing the news and gasped, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "What!" she spoke louder than she should have and covering her mouth she sat down again. Conversation in the tearoom paused just for an instant and the noise level returned to normal as everyone went on with their lunches.

But the shock hadn't passed and she said again, "What are you saying? That the Stonehurst's grandson, was murdered? Such a thing is unthinkable. Poor, poor Richard and Violet. Tell me the whole thing."

As she paused for breath her lunch companion, Suzanne Dupree took over the conversation and filled her in on the details. It was a sad and shocking story. One from their own circle of acquaintances had been touched by violence! People they had known forever were now in mourning. Unbelievable!

Slowly they finished their lunch, signed the tab, and gathered their things. It was as though the sunlight had disappeared from their day. If it was possible for a Stonehurst to be murdered in this brutal way, which one of them was safe?

Silent, the two women thought about their own grown children, upon whom so many hopes and dreams rested, as they walked to the door and waited for Mrs. Dupree's driver. As soon as they were seated in the back of the black sedan, they both pulled out their cell phones and made calls.

"Natalie!"

"Yes Mom, I'm here."

"Honey, I have some shocking news. Have you heard about the Stonehurst boy?"

"Mom, I was at the crime scene already this morning. I went with the police to the Stonehurst's home as well," Natalie paused.

"Such a terrible job you have. I always forget what you are faced with daily." She hesitated for an instant, because she didn't want to seem pushy, "So what can you tell me?"

"Nothing really," Natalie sighed. She had been through this with her mom before. Natalie wasn't allowed to divulge confidential information, even to her mother. Her mother knew this, but it didn't stop her from trying anyway.

Mrs. Davenport lived in a world where it paid to be first to know all the important comings and goings of the society families that she associated with. Underneath it all the connections were probably genuine, but at times people in this crowd were very insincere in their affections. They had climbed the social, educational, and financial ladders successfully and compulsively defended their positions in a hierarchy which was firmly established. But there was compassion in their social formalities. In many ways, they only had each other.

Natalie turned off her cell phone after talking to her mom, and turned to Mr. Monk. "Would you mind if we pay my mother a visit before we go back to San Francisco?"

"Was the victim a friend of your family?" Adrian had clued into at least that much of the conversation held a minute before.

"Yes, and everyone is very upset."

"Well, yes, let's go pay her a visit. Here's the thing, could you take me home first? I mean, I don't mind going if I don't actually have to be there," Monk said matter of factly.

Natalie looked at him, sighed, and spoke, "Then I guess I am taking you home and driving back alone?"

He smiled a little smile, "That's a great idea."

They drove south on the highway, without speaking for some time. Then Natalie broke the silence, "I have wanted to ask you something for a while. Do you mind?"

Of course he minded, and it was apparent by all of the shoulder movements and neck twisting he did before he answered, "No. Not at all. Go ahead."

"We have known each other and worked together for three years now. Would you mind if I call you Adrian?" He didn't say anything, so she continued quickly, "Well it just seems so formal calling you Mr. Monk and we have really become good friends, haven't we?" She threw a look over at him to see what his reaction was.

"Are you asking if we are friends, or if Mr. Monk is too formal?"

"You know what I'm asking, don't you?" Natalie knew he was going to be a little difficult just on principle but that he really wouldn't mind. She never would have asked if she thought there was any possibility that he would say no. But she wanted him to say okay to it out loud.

"Natalie, you and Julie are like my family. I realize that," he stopped. It was hard to find the right words. "It doesn't come up very often, but I've been thinking about us, too."

Now Natalie was speechless. Holding her breath without realizing it she waited to see what he was going to say next.

"Remember when you told me that we have to have each other's back? We were waiting for that traffic accident, which was actually a murder, to get cleared away, and I didn't even know you were hurt? I've thought about that day often."

Monk sat looking out the window for a while, so Natalie just waited.

"The thing is, you do have my back. And I trust you. People who trust each other to be there are more than friends – there should be another word for it. We are like trust buddies. You are there for me and I would like to think that I am there for you, too. So yes, call me Adrian."

"Trust buddies, huh?" Natalie finally spoke. She couldn't help smiling a huge smile and a giggle escaped. This man, odd and troubled as he was, was also very kind. He was very complex in a way but equally simple in another. To be his friend or his "trust buddy" was surely a special gift.

Finally she spoke again, "It's a gift…period. But not a curse," and when she looked over at Adrian this time, he was smiling, too.

Then he surprised her again. "If you would like me to be with you when you talk to your mom about the Stonehurst murder, I will go. We could turn around and go back."

Pulling the car off at the next exit, Natalie turned around and headed north again. She felt new warmth for her boss rise up inside, but had no words for it. She turned to him as she said, "Thank you, Adrian."


	6. Chapter 5

_Author's Notes:_

_The following characters, both imaginary and real, don't belong to me. However I had fun borrowing them for this chapter. Please read and review!_

Chapter 5

Natalie drove into the curved driveway of her parent's home and pulled over to park just beyond the elegant front entrance. As they got out of the car they were smiling, still happy about their conversation. As Natalie approached the door she became more somber, thinking about how the murder of a neighbor was affecting her mother.

Monk came up the steps touching the pointed tips of an ironwork grille and suddenly there was blood gushing from his right hand. His face lost all color and he shouted out, causing Natalie to turn around and run back down the steps to him. "Mr. Monk, Adrian, what did you do?" she cried fiddling in her purse for wipes, or something larger to use on the wound.

Adrian pulled out his handkerchief and she wound it around the cut and pressed it. Together they approached the large front door which by now had opened.

"We need a cloth and something to clean this with," Natalie said to the servant who appeared. Entering the house carefully, Monk followed the housekeeper to the bathroom where they tried to wash away the blood which was still flowing, and examine the gash to see how bad it was. Monk was too shocked to notice his bloody shirt and pants. Natalie also had blood on her.

Arriving in the doorway and observing the proceedings, Mrs. Davenport announced firmly, "For heaven's sake. Get back in the car. You are going to need some medical attention for that!"

_An hour and a half later…_

Monk sat on the end of an examining table in the ER of Marin Memorial hospital. He had been waiting with Natalie for an hour before his name was called. He was as relaxed as he could be with a three inch gash in his hand.

The throbbing in his hand had slowed and he wasn't in much discomfort so Adrian took in his surroundings with satisfaction. The floor was spotless; the curtains that hung between patient beds looked bleached and pristine. Everything in the little examining area had a place and a purpose. He inhaled the smell of disinfectant with a happy sigh and relaxed.

All of a sudden, things started to happen. His curtain opened a foot or two and a young PA came toward him. "So, we are going to have a few stitches, today are we?" he said.

Monk grumbled, "I don't know if WE are, but it sure looks like I am going to."

Not batting an eye, the PA said, "Well, I am going to get set up here. A nurse will be in shortly to give you something to dull the pain. I will be right back."

On the other side of the white curtain there was loud conversation. A slightly familiar, gruff voice was speaking with nervous staccato bursts. "What is it? What are you going to do? What's that for?" came a list of questions that were really protests.

Another voice, softer and soothing, was heard, "Okay sir, this isn't going to take long. We're just going to see what's going on down there. Just relax."

"Relax! You're going to take that long piece of stick and put it down where? How can I relax with a stick in there?"

Adrian's level of discomfort increased tenfold as he listened. What were they doing to that poor patient? And why did he feel like it was someone he knew?

Meanwhile, the nurse, dressed in scrubs with colorful cartoon dogs all over it and a nametag that said, Debi on it, slipped between the curtains and approached him with her hand behind her back. She cleansed the wound area rapidly with some moistened gauze and then Adrian saw an enormous needle as she brought her arm forward, "There will be a little pinch…"

"Here's the thing," Monk instantly hid his hand behind his own back, "I don't do well with needles."

From the other side of the curtain, the raspy voice had gotten louder. "What's that for? You just did that! Why…what are going to do with THAT stick?"

Monk jumped off the bed and stood beside the nurse, "I think they are hurting someone over there. For God's sake, someone help that man!"

Now both medical workers could be heard, soothing and reassuring. On one side of the curtain the "stick" was going up the nose, and on the other side of the curtain a large needle was going toward a hand that was firmly held by the nurse.

Now a sort of pleading in stage whispers began.

"Be a big boy. Be a big boy; It's almost over; It's almost over," could be heard.

Also, "Think about Trudy; be strong for Trudy; Think about Trudy; Trudy's smile; Trudy's face…"

The two voices increased in volume. In a desperate, competitive chorale, the two patients were trying to hear only their own voice, so they got louder and louder. And then they were shouting! One voice was raspy and staccato. The other was whiney and mournful.

At the same point the two medical persons backed out of the cubicles and gave each other eye contact on the other side of the curtains. "What is going on?" their eyes asked each other. "Who is that?" Adrian's nurse asked.

"You're not going to believe it," said the physician's assistant. "Who have you got?"

"He's a famous detective, Adrian Monk!" was the explanation. But the nurse continued, "He's going to have to get a grip on himself."

"I have Regis Philbin needing a throat swab," said the PA. "He's even worse!"

A crowd of medical personnel was starting to gather around the cubicles, most of them thinking their assistance might be needed, but others were taken in by the drama.

Suddenly, the two voices were no longer competing – they were conversing.

"Hold on man, you can do it!"

"Don't let them take you down!"

"For God's sake, protect yourself!"

"I hear you. I'm doing my best!"

Forcing the curtains open, the two men looked at each other like long lost friends. Regis came and sat on Monk's bed beside him and they both looked defiantly at the nurses and docs who had gathered.

At that point, the head of the ER arrived, reprimanded them quietly but sternly, and escorted Regis back to his examining table. The procedures continued with considerably less noise, but occasional outbursts continued from both sides.

By the time Monk found Natalie in the waiting room he was pale, shaken, and teary and he begged her to take him home.


	7. Chapter 6

_Author's notes:_

_A wounded and bandaged Adrian has been taken home by his faithful friend, Natalie. He needs to rest after his ordeal at the hospital. Meanwhile the Stonehursts are in shock. But not all of them are taken by surprise, as you will see.  
_

Chapter 6

Later that day, the Stonehurst mansion began to fill up with relatives. Violet and Richard sat together on an antique sofa in the drawing room and several family members sat quietly with them including Timothy's parents. Dr. Stonehurst, his arm around a young girl who was weeping, spoke in whispers to her; Gwen, Timothy's younger sister cried softly. Servants tiptoed in and out taking care of guests, and the atmosphere was heavy with grief.

Her grandfather spoke quietly to Gwen. "These things happen, sweetheart. A night of drinking ends in a death. Boys think they are indestructible. And they are so foolish. Why didn't they drive him up to the house and let us take care of him?"

An aunt chimed in, "You know, he was going through the wild stage that most young men go through. We know he would have settled down given time…but now he never will have the chance." The family continued to offer rationales for Tim's actions and to assume that they knew the full story of what had happened. Some of them even recounted stories of other family members in their young and wild days, as if to say this was normal, but unfortunate behavior.

Other family members gravitated to the bar at the end of the room but were keeping their discussions very low out of deference to those overcome by the news of Timothy's death.

Pouring out a martini for his aunt, Rich, also a grandson, fidgeted with the ice tongs, rattling them on the crystal ice bucket.

Aunt Lilliane sipped her drink for a moment, and spoke, "Richard, what was Timothy doing in those woods?"

Rich spoke quickly, "The police said he reeked of alcohol. They think that he ran into old friends and they went drinking. They were all wasted and when Tim passed out they dropped him off at Grandfather's house because they forgot where his new studio apartment was. Anyway, somehow he hit his head and so it will probably be ruled an accidental death."

Lilliane made a face, and said, "There's no excuse for them to be wasted, as you call it. Youth have no idea of the boundaries of good common sense." She rambled on and held out her martini glass again to Rich who filled it for her. Eventually Rich excused himself from his aunt and went across the foyer to an office area off the great entry hall.

Mr. Worth was there; he was very busy receiving flowers, cards, and messages, keeping track of things as they arrived. Closing the door behind him, Rich faced Worth and said, "We need to talk."

"Yes, Mr. Richard, but not here and not now," Mr. Worth continued what he was doing. "Let's wait until later tonight or even tomorrow. This has turned out very badly. I need to take care of things for your grandparents. We will talk later."

Rich returned to the hallway and just stood there, at a loss. Things HAD turned out badly. That was a huge understatement. Rich was weary with grief and guilt. He had been awake all night and had never gone to bed in fact. He had gone to the basement playroom and there among the games and things he and his brother had once played with, he cried. His only brother was dead and he was responsible. But no one could know.

And so he had waited for dawn, for full sunrise, the morning paper, a cup of coffee, and finally the knock on the door. When it the police had come, he hadn't dared go and face them. He had stayed hidden in the breakfast room alone trying to figure out what to do.

_Two stories about the death are beginning to circulate as you may notice. The family's version is about foolish young men who drink too much and lack good judgment. The police on the other hand are not calling this an accidental death yet._


	8. Chapter 7

_Author's Notes: _

_I have been away from my computer on a road trip, and not able to post chapters as often as I wanted to. I went to Kentucky to visit friends in the gorgeous Cumberland Lake area and to Indiana to do some research for a story I am writing about Francis Slocum: kathy5476./ __ . I hit the mother lode of information at the Miami County Museum archives in Peru, (A big thank you to Nancy the helpful curator!) and I visited Frances Slocum's grave. I also met one of my mother's cousins, Mark M., charming and sharp as a tack at 86, in her birthplace, Converse, IN. I will be home by Monday evening and begin posting chapters every day again. _

_Note to Bflogal – I saw Cole Porter's birthplace and his grandmother's house where he wrote some of his songs. Beautiful and obviously inspiring place!  
_

_Thanks for the reviews so far! They are very helpful! More chapters are on the way_

Chapter 7

With both of his hands bandaged, Adrian Monk was bound to have problems getting along on his own, so he and Natalie went to his house to pack a few things. The plan was to take him to her house for a day or two until the gash on his hand had some time to heal.

The stitches in his right hand were in a line down his index finger but somehow the bandage went right across the whole palm. Naturally he had insisted that the nurse bandage the left hand in the exact same way so that he would feel balanced. However, whatever help his left hand would have been to him, its usefulness was limited in its present condition. Natalie, understanding just exactly what was needed, accepted that this was part of her friendship with Adrian. The fact that he couldn't cope without her, was part of why she was so deeply attached to him.

Mrs. Davenport had phoned twice to ask how Adrian was getting along. She apologized repeatedly for the sharp edge of the of the cast iron grille work that had sliced his hand like a paper cut, only much deeper. She assured them that it had been filed, soldered and repaired so that in the future there would be no such mishaps. Natalie had taken some time to listen to her talk about the death of Tim Stonehurst as well.

Climbing the steps to his apartment, Adrian turned to Natalie and said her, "I know this is part of the job, Natalie, but I still need to say, thank you."

She stood completely still for an instant and then replied. "I would be happy to take care of you, job, or no job," she said looking into his eyes.

"It's because I pay you, right?" he repeated, forcing her to state her message more clearly.

"No, it's more than a job. I would take care of you as a friend, even if you didn't need an assistant."

Adrian smiled. He knew that was the answer but he liked to hear her say it. He also knew he was difficult to live with and so he wanted to be reassured. Deep down he found it very hard to believe that anyone could accept and befriend him and after it had happened once like a miracle, with Trudy, he had been sure it would never happen again. He loved thinking about it and hearing Natalie retell him that it was true.

They finished climbing the stairs and quickly got busy packing his clothing, water, and food. Within two hours the car was packed and even though it was getting late in the afternoon, they decided to swing by the police station and see what was happening with the case.

At the SFPD:

"Monk! There you are! Which hand actually has stitches?" Stottlemeyer greeted him and Adrian raised his right hand. "How are you doing, buddy?" he clapped him on the back while looking at Natalie who was standing slightly behind Monk. Leland searched her face for a clue as to the mental state of his favorite detective and she gave him a big smile.

"Let's go over this! A few new facts have turned up," he said jovially as they all gathered in his office, along with Randy Disher who was busy jotting down notes on a new stenographer's pad – not the little notebook he used for note taking in homicides.

"Randy, bring us up to date." There was a silence and everyone looked at Randy.

"Randy!" Disher was looking at the ceiling with his pencil poised as though he was searching for a word to write down.

"Oh…yes sir!" while he fumbled with the notepads and produced the right one he grinned at everyone and said, "New song! I am on to a great song idea – got it from watching MTV last night. I am inspired. You never know when an idea will hit. Hit! It could be a hit!" He paused considering that seriously.

"R-a-n-d-y!" this time the name was drawn out with a hint of menace in it as the Captain tried to focus him, but because he wasn't actually angry. It was a mostly empty threat. But Randy always had a little question mark about the captain's temper, so he refocused himself on the task.

"Yes Sir! Let's see. First of all, the lab report showed no sign of alcohol in Stonehurst's body. There was a pouch of chewing tobacco in his back pocket, and stains on his fingers and teeth. Not a single sign of illegal drug use. "

"So why did he smell like after dinner liqueur?" asked Natalie?

Randy looked up at her and shrugged and then continued. "Also, there is not much to go on concerning his whereabouts the day of the murder. He showed up at work at the usual time but he was not at work after lunch. I talked to his boss, Eddie, at the communications company. Tim never came back to the work site at all. He was not seen at his apartment, or in his neighborhood."

"So, where were you for the rest of the day, Timothy?" Monk spoke thoughtfully.

"As far as his friends go, we have chased down his school buddies and one of his apartment mates. They insist they did not see him all day, or that night either.

He disappeared." Randy stopped reading and looked up.

"So Timothy was somewhere he didn't usually go; somewhere filthy like a basement. It was dark and he didn't want anyone to know he was there so he needed a flashlight. He planned to be there for a long time, because he brought something to snack on," Monk continued puzzling aloud.

The four of them had worked on clues to a case together many times before and knew that at any moment a lead or the right answer might become obvious. But first there needed to be a few theories thrown out for general consideration of the foursome, and then some would be just plain thrown out!

"Maybe he was hiding stolen drugs in a dirty barn and waiting for his contacts to show up and pay him off. And they showed up, killed him and dumped at his grandfather's estate," Randy offered.

"Where are the drugs or the money? He was not a user. He doesn't fit the profile," said Stottlemeyer. "Why would drug dealers take him to his family's home?"

Monk stepped forward and said with assurance, "Its not drugs, or friends or strangers. This has something to do with that family. There is some kind of cover up going on there. I need to talk to Dr. Stonehurst again."


	9. Chapter 8

_Author's Notes_

_Sorry for the Hiatus. These aren't my characters but I can picture them quite clearly. I am still very new at this and I appreciate the feedback. It helps me think through the problems in my writing. If you are reading, please review!_

The house was quiet as Mr. Worth led Monk and Natalie in to the library and gestured for them to be seated on an overstuffed davenport. Dr. Stonehurst sat behind a grand mahogany carved desk, his head on his hands. He looked up and acknowledged their presence, but didn't rise.

"Mr. Monk and Natalie," he spoke wearily but politely to them, "How can I help you this evening?"

"We are so sorry to disturb you. We offer you our sincerest sympathies at this time. We just have a few more questions, sir," Natalie said as a rush of memories of being in this house as a small girl came to her.

"Your family has been more than kind. Please thank your mother for the flowers and for sending over some household help. We are inundated with family – a full house."

Adrian had been searching the room with his keen eyes cataloguing automatically and now he looked at his host. "Was there anything unusual in the house this morning, before you," he paused, "received the news?"

Dr. Stonehurst looked up at him, "No, I can't think of anything… Well, yes, a maid complained that one of my rare stamp collections had been moved." He turned and gestured toward a beautiful book stand. "That one," Now he rose and walked to it pulling a pair of white gloves from his pocket.

"I looked at this collection this morning, and I agree, someone else was handling it." He smoothed the cover gently, "It was not opened to the catalogue of Napoleonic War commemorative releases, as it always is," he shook his head as if puzzled.

Adrian joined him at the podium-like stand and breathed in sharply. "This is a beautiful collection. May I look at it?"

"Of course," and looked around for another pair of white gloves which were always nearby.

Adrian showed him the bandaged hands, "I will just look if you don't mind."

He proceeded to bend at the waist and examine the book from all angles without touching it. "Is the spine exactly as it was?" he gestured toward a rough area where the leather was dry and worn.

Dr. Stonehurst examined it also, and said, "Well, it seems to me that this damaged spot is worse. But that's impossible. We take impeccable care of the leather." His voice raised a little as he realized that there was damage to the rare antique.

"Did you have any guests visiting prior to this morning?"

"No, there was my wife and I, my grandson Rich, and the usual staff. None of them would touch the book. I'd love to say it's because they know of its worth to the philatelic community, but actually, they are not admirers of this Stanley Gibbons treasure. They are not interested at all, I am sad to say."

Natalie joined them, slipping her arm through the elderly gentleman's she spoke soothingly but loudly. "I remember how much you loved stamps and how you encouraged us to collect when we were young. I still have my album at my parent's house. You gave me a canceled Penny Black for my 10th birthday," she recalled.

Dr. Stonehurst attempted a smile, "Yes Natalie, those were special times. I am afraid all of you children have left your collections gathering dust somewhere."

Adrian's voice came from near the floor where he was on his knees beside the book stand. "Natalie," he requested her attention, so she bent down as well. "See the blond hairs on the baseboard? Use my pen to pick them up, and bag those." He spoke very quietly.

Then gesturing silently to her he pointed with a white taped hand toward some cobweb residue attached to the bottom of the lowest book shelf. He looked in her eyes with a meaningful look that told her this was evidence. She bagged that also.

Dr. Stonehurst peered over the edge of the book stand at them, "Is something wrong?"

"No, sir," Natalie responded quickly. "Just dirt from my shoes," she hid what they had found without thinking, not even sure why she did it. Did she suspect Dr. Stonehurst of doing something wrong? No, of course not. But she didn't want to reveal what they had discovered without Adrian's say-so.

Adrian and Natalie stood together once again, and said their good-byes along with a restatement of their condolences to the old man. Mr. Worth appeared instantly from nowhere and showed them out.

At the door Worth spoke very firmly to them, "I am sure that this is the last time you will need to disturb the master. Surely you have respect for the family," he said looking very pointedly at Natalie.

Adrian paused on the threshold of the doorway and turned, "Did you see anyone in the library last night or early this morning?"

"Of course not. All had been going as usual and according to household routine until the police arrived this morning," he spoke with pompous pride. But he also averted his eyes from the departing pair and nodded his head up and down slightly.

"Well then, good day," Natalie spoke and they continued out of the house, toward the steps. At the bottom, they turned and walked in the direction of the car. The whole time she felt like someone was watching from the house. She couldn't shake the ridiculous feeling of unquiet that came over her.

Standing beside the car, Adrian turned to Natalie and said with assurance, "He's lying."

"What? Dr. Stonehurst?" she bristled and prepared to defend her old friend.

"No, Natalie," Monk continued, "The butler. Mr. Worth knows more than he admits. He is lying and covering up. I think he's the guy."

"How could he be?"

"I don't know…yet," Adrian walked around the car and got into the passenger side.


	10. Chapter 9

_Author's Notes:_

_Well, my husband says that the butler did it, in the library, with the candlestick – oh wait, that was just another game of clue. Monk and Natalie don't belong to me and never will. I love borrowing them for my story. Please read and review!_

Chapter 9

Driving home both Natalie and Adrian were quiet. The sun was setting. It had been a long and exhausting day. Natalie started to think about what she could fix for dinner. Adrian would need help with so many things and she began to consider how she would manage.

"Natalie," Adrian interrupted her thoughts of macaroni and cheese and she glanced over at him. "How are we going to do this? I mean how am I going to… you know, eat and get dressed and …everything," he stopped on a sort of pleading note.

"Adrian, I am thinking about that very thing. The truth is, I don't know exactly how we will do it, but I know we will do it. I am not worried. It will be fine," she lied to herself first and then to him. She knew what a private person he was and the last thing she wanted to do was embarrass or humiliate him.

They were nearly home and sat silently watching the houses roll by until she pulled up in front of her home. Carrying the bags and struggling with the keys, while Monk stood around seemed normal enough. How many times had he let her carry a heavy load and just watched? Too many times to count!

Natalie put Adrian's cases in Julie's room where he had stayed before and opened them. "Can you unpack at all?" she asked him.

"I am pretty helpless, but let me see what happens if you loosen the bandage on my left hand," he looked up at her from where he sat on the bed and held out his hand.

"Would you consider removing the bandage on your left hand until later?" she asked.

"I will let you take it off," Adrian twitched his shoulders uncomfortably, "But you have to replace it before I will be able to sleep tonight. Promise?"

"Of course," Natalie began to unwind the bandage from his left hand. She finished and held out a wipe. He took it and waved it a little, so she took it back and wiped his good hand for him. As she left the room saw him starting to unpack one handed. That at least would solve some problems.

--

After dinner Monk disappeared into the bathroom for what seemed like the rest of the evening. It had to be slow going for him, but when he reappeared he was in his pajamas and bathrobe and he went to his room. Natalie knocked lightly on the door, and got an affirmative response. Entering she saw Adrian sitting on the edge of the bed looking frustrated.

"How can I help, Adrian?" Natalie wasn't quite comfortable with using his first name, but she was determined to get used to it, so she said it in as natural a way as possible.

"I couldn't button my top," he looked up at her with his deep brown eyes fastened on her blue ones.

"Here," she said sitting beside him, "That's easy." He had buttoned two buttons, but from the way the top was pulled out of shape – one button hanging by a couple of threads, it was obvious that he had wrestled with it with his left hand, but he hadn't been successful.

Natalie straightened it out, while Adrian, barely breathing, sat as still as possible. "What next?"

She sat facing him on the edge of the bed.

"Would you retape my hand? It just makes me feel so off balance. I can't relax."

"Sure. Let me get the…," as Natalie arose, turning at the same time to go find the bandaging materials, Monk pointed to his suitcases and clipped her in the chin. She sat back down just as suddenly and fell against his shoulder. "Look who is off balance!" she laughed, "Its not you! It's me – and I didn't even have a glass of wine!" she joked.

But Adrian used his left hand to steady her with his arm around her and then he touched her face. He held onto her chin for a few seconds examining it for any damage. "You're fine," he pronounced.

"No thanks to you and your left hook," she continued to laugh while she retrieved the bandages. This time when she sat down beside him they were both relaxed and there was no sense of awkwardness at all. They had been in close proximity to each other so many times over the years and suddenly tonight they were comfortable again.

"I should say I'm sorry you didn't get to your mom's today," he spoke as he watched and supervised the taping procedure. "I know you wanted to be there with her."

"Oh Mr…Adrian," she stumbled and went on. "You couldn't help what happened and she feels badly about your injury. I talked with her on the phone," she reminded him. "But thank you."

Natalie paused as she started to think about next couple of days. "I would like to be with my parents at the viewing and funeral, too."

"I think we need to be out there with the Stonehursts as much as possible for the next few days. Something happened in that library, and somebody there is covering it up." Mr. Monk looked faraway and as he focused on the homicide again.

"Don't begin to work on the case again!" Natalie scolded him. "You'll never go to sleep!" She finished the bandaging, collected the tape and scissors and held them in her hands on her lap.

He nudged her with his shoulder and said, "I am going to have sweet dreams now," He gave her one of those relaxed smiles that appeared so rarely on his serious face. She couldn't help giving him a big grin back as it was her nature to smile easily. But she sat there looking at him to see what else he would say. "You know, I liked our talk today. Trudy and I would talk like that about true friendship and trust. That sort of thing. You remind me of her in so many ways and it really helps me to have you here."

"Adrian," Natalie wanted to be cautious about telling him her feelings, but she wanted to be honest with him, too. "I am really glad that I remind you of Trudy, and I know how much you miss her, but I need you to understand that I am not Trudy. I don't want to be her - even if it helps you."

Monk pulled back and turned toward Natalie. He looked at her slightly alarmed. "I…know…of course you are not Trudy. I am not mixed up about that," he paused, "What does that mean; you don't want to be her?"

"Look, let me try to explain it better. I loved Mitch and he was my life. He stays alive with me because of Julie. People say you have to move on, but I know that part of me never will. I know that you have the same kind of strong connection with Trudy. But I think there's a difference. I know that no one will ever replace Mitch, even if I fall in love again. But I know that I may fall in love again."

Natalie swallowed hard and then continued on, "Do you realize that love may be out there for you one day – but it won't be what you had with Trudy?" She was staring intensely at him now, trying to pick each word carefully and anxious that she was treading where she shouldn't go, "I am afraid that you will never be happy again, because it's impossible for there to be another Trudy."

Adrian put his left arm behind her back and moved a little closer to her. "Of course I know there will never be another Trudy. I think about it constantly." He stopped and rearranged his shoulders and his neck because he was thinking hard and searching for words as much as Natallie had been.

"What you're really asking is if I will ever be happy again. If I will ever find..." this time he got a case of dry mouth and had to swallow, "love again in my life. This is something I think about, but I don't believe in. I don't believe it will happen to me twice. I have never gotten over the miracle of Trudy falling in love with me and marrying me. I just can't explain how overwhelmed that makes me."

He had brought his arm around front and suddenly Natalie was holding onto it with both of hers. Adrian continued, "I know I live in the past. I pretend I like it there. I tell myself it is safe. But I know what Dr. Kroger would say. I don't dare hope that it could happen twice to me. It's unbelievable. This is as much as I have ever let myself talk about it."

Natalie smiled and sighed a little, not realizing she had been holding her breath through some of this sharing of confidences. "What would Dr. Kroger tell you?"

"That this is what I must work on. Hope. Hope for a future happiness. Confidence that I can be happy again. He would say, 'Why shouldn't _you_ be happy, Adrian?' and I would have no answer.

I would have no answer," he repeated.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Rich stood out in back behind the manicured hedges and well-tended flower beds where there was an old swing that he and Timothy had used when they were kids. He was sitting down and he held his head in his hands. He felt like he was going crazy.

It was almost dawn, the sky was getting lighter, but he hadn't been asleep yet. It was still, but the stillness seemed loud, like a constant buzzing. He heard sirens in the distance becoming louder than the buzzing. It was all in his head and he couldn't stop it.

He was motionless on the swing, his feet dragging in the dirt, but his heart was beating erratically, and he was perspiring. He felt old, worn, run over in his bones, but electricity kept surging in his ears. He couldn't stand it.

Pulling himself up out of the swing with great effort, he started walking toward the house. It was time for his appointment. It was time to have a talk. What was he going to do? What was he going to say? He felt a terrible dread and desperation.

--

Worth looked up from where he stood at the coffee pot. He was alone it the kitchen at 5:30am. It was the start of the house's daily routine. This was when he started the coffee, picked up the paper from outside the door, and opened the drapes in the breakfast room. A new day would be underway shortly.

"Worth," was all Rich said as he opened the door.

"Not here," was all the reply he got. Then it was, "Follow me please, sir."

Older and younger, servant and employer, the two had a similar gravity in their movements as they followed one another to the finished basement playroom. Going to the far end where there were chairs they sat down across from each other.

Rich spoke first, "I am going crazy. What are we going to do?"

Mr. Worth spoke in a commanding tone, "We are not going to panic. We are going to think this through calmly."

"He was my brother! I don't know how it happened! I thought he was an intruder!"

Mr. Worth, reached over and put a hand on Rich's arm. "He WAS an intruder." He stopped and then continued, "He was breaking in and stealing from your Grandfather. We were protecting the house. How were we to know it was Timothy?"

"You put on the lights is all, but I hit him over the head! I did it!" Rich was sobbing now. "I didn't know it would kill him. I didn't think it was Tim. I didn't know how easy it would be to kill someone."

"Shhhhh Master Rich," Worth quieted him like he had done when the boys were small. "It can't be helped now. What's done is done. We need to be calm."

"I could never tell my grandparents. My parents. My sister. Gwen! What would they think? Would they ever look at me, talk to me? It's the end of everything," Rich was inconsolable for several minutes.

"The important thing right now, is to keep this between us, Rich," Worth began to talk quietly as Rich started to breathe more slowly. "We must go to the funeral and mourn with the family for Timothy, and never, ever let them know what happened in the library."

Rich finally wiped his face with his sleeve and looked up at him, "How? How are we gonna do that?"

Worth continued, "Isn't it better that they think he died as a result of a wild night with his friends – than that they know he was killed while stealing from your family? Think of how awful it would be for the family, then."

Standing up and tugging on his vest and coat, the butler spoke again, "I suggest you don't talk much to anyone except me if you need to, but don't be afraid to show how upset you are. We are all upset." Worth turned and went back upstairs to resume his daily duties.

Rich sat alone for a while before he lay down on the old sofa they had watched movies on as kids. He tossed around and couldn't get comfortable. Finally, exhausted, he slept.


	12. Chapter 11

_Author Notes: Now I think we are getting somewhere! We need to get to the bottom of this mystery. Timothy's father behaves like mine has over the years. Maybe if dad believed in him Tim would still be alive!_

_I don't own Monk and the gang. I will try to get the story finished soon and post some more chapters over the weekend. Please read and review!_

Chapter 11

Black Cadillacs and limousines lined the curved driveway in front of the funeral home. The parking lot was nearly full and people were arriving at the front entrance. Mr. Worth stood at the door as people entered and he gestured to left indicating the large guestbook lying open on a wooden stand. One by one the guests stepped to the book and carefully signed it. Laying down the pen, they would move to the right and down a corridor to the entrance to an ornate chapel.

Funeral home employees, dressed in black, escorted people to seats, deliberately portraying consideration and thoughtfulness by the slow dignity with which they moved. A piano was playing softly, voices were whispering from time to time, and over the hushed noises rose a sobbing voice. Then the voice quieted again, before being heard once more; repeatedly the sobs ebbed and flowed like a tide of sorrow.

Three-quarters of the way back, Adrian, Leland, and Randy found seats together. They were dressed soberly and remained silent. Natalie sat with her parents closer to the front just two rows behind the Stonehurst family.

The service began with a welcoming word from the family's minister and then was followed by a series of family members reading poetry or speaking for a few minutes. Timothy's cousin sang an appropriate hymn and then a piper played, "Amazing Grace". The tasteful mourners filed out after the family and a reception line formed inside the foyer of the funeral home.

Falling into their place in line as the ushers stopped at each pew in succession from front to back in the chapel, Monk, Disher, and Stottlemeyer stood quietly. Leland whispered, "I would rather skip this part," and turned toward the exit.

But Monk tapped his sleeve and said, "But this is the part where things get interesting. Let's see what happens."

Raising an eyebrow, the captain reconsidered and stepped back into line. "Well, let's stick around then."

"Should I take notes?" Randy pulled out his notebook.

"Not now, Randy. If you need to take notes you'll know."

--

Approaching the Mr. Stonehurst, Timothy's father, Adrian was first to offer condolences. As he turned to move on, he paused, turned back to the grieving man and asked a question.

"Was there a will?"

"Timothy had a trust fund that he couldn't touch until the age of 25. And now he never will," replied the father sadly. Monk moved on to Tim's mother.

Again he murmured polite words and then paused to ask, "What will become of the trust fund?"

"Oh, I don't know. I don't like to think about that. I suppose we will give it to the other children."

Awkwardly making a gesture of shaking the hand of Rich, the third and youngest of the Stonehurst line, but without actually touching him, Adrian again offered condolences. He stayed with Rich and said, "What will be done with the trust fund?"

Richard's voice wavered. "I don't want it. I won't take it. I couldn't touch it." And he broke down completely. "How could I profit from my own brother's death? How could you think of that?" Monk patted his arm as the young man regained control and kept moving. There was a slight lifting of his countenance, not a smile, but an assured look came over his face as he stepped out of the line.

Gathering outside the entrance, the three detectives walked toward the parking area to prepare for the procession to the burial site. Seeing the Davenports they stopped and spoke quietly to them. Randy and Leland both hugged Natalie and continued toward the cars. Adrian said, "I will see you at the house. Are you okay?"

Natalie nodded. "I'm fine. It's just so sad. Have you figured it out?"

Locking onto her eyes with his, he said, "We're still working on it. We're doing everything we can," but the lift of his chin and something in his eyes answered her question in the affirmative.

--

Later at the cemetery, Leland Stottlemeyer waited until the family began walking away from the burial site. Then he approached the parents, siblings and grandparents as a group.

"We want you to know that we are doing everything we can to find out who killed Timothy. Please rest assured that we are putting in a lot of man hours on this."

"Surely you have found his friends and discovered where the partying took place by now?" spoke the father.

"I am afraid not. All of the evidence points to Timothy spending the evening alone and not out drinking."

"Well, that's preposterous. We know what the boys were up to. My son was headstrong and wild. That's why I stopped paying for his school and told him to support himself until he was ready to become serious about his future."

"And was he able to do that? Was he supporting himself?"

"Yes, of course. He had some dead end type of job. He liked it well enough. He said he was going to start a business for himself. But that was just talk. Timothy wouldn't know what to do if a business opportunity presented itself right under his nose." Tim's father snorted just a slight bit, but the gesture was there and spoke volumes. Obviously, his dad didn't think much of his son's intelligence, abilities or motivation.

Adrian stepped forward at this moment, and asked, "If he had wanted to start a business, how would he have raised the funds for it?"

"Why… why.. He would come to me of course," sputtered the middle-aged, smartly but somberly dressed man. "He couldn't do it without me. He couldn't make a move without our help."

"What makes you so certain that he wouldn't have found a way?" Monk persisted.

"What are you saying? He didn't have any money without his trust fund. He would have had to wait!" The gentleman couldn't conceive of any other explanation for Tim's actions and he refused to consider that his son had taken any initiative on his own.

"Look," he continued, "Its unfortunate that my son didn't have any more sense than he did, but it was a young man's foolishness that killed my son. Why don't the police admit that and declare it an accidental death?"

"The evidence just doesn't add up," replied Stottlemeyer quietly as he turned and began to walk away. Randy followed him and the group moved toward the cars.

Adrian walked to the side and held back a little until he was beside the brother.

"Rich, do you believe your brother could have found a way to start a business?" Adrian asked.

Rich looked around panicked and finally said very quietly, "Can I talk to you. Not here. But some time soon?"

Monk spoke softly, "I could meet you at the Davenport's tonight."


End file.
